Mr. Prime Minister

by Jessica Ashe

  Piper shakes her head. “I’m working tonight. That’s what this is for.” She holds up the coffee. She’s already finished the half cup that she bought herself, and is now working on the one I bought her. She doesn’t realize it, but I bought decaf. She already looks high-strung.

  “What about tomorrow night?”

  I shouldn’t even ask. That’s the night before the job. I should be keeping a clear head and not thinking about trying to get laid. Who am I kidding? I’m going to be thinking about that anyway—the only difference is, if I’m with Piper then I might get some.

  “Alec, it isn’t going to happen.”

  “Why not? I’m only asking you to come to dinner.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re not in town for long, so that means nothing can come of this. Which means you only want to take me to dinner because you think you might get sex out of it. Which is fine, I don’t blame you for trying. But the answer is no.”

  I smile again and try to play it cool. I’m not used to being rejected, and I’m not used to caring. That one stings a bit.

  “At least let me walk you home.”

  “Sure,” Piper says suspiciously. “I guess that’s okay.”

  We take the thirty-minute walk back to our apartments, but I get nothing more than a ‘goodbye’ on the doorstep. God damn, I want that girl. I want her lips on mine. I want to taste that sweet goodness between her legs. I want to feel her tight pussy squeezing on my cock as I fuck her.

  But it’s not going to happen. Maybe that’s why I want her so much. Knowing I can’t have her is messing with my head.

  I hope that’s all it is.

  I’m only going to be in the city for two more days, and once I leave, I can’t ever come back. I always knew leaving Chicago would be difficult. I grew up not far from here, and Daron still lives here, out in the suburbs somewhere. I’ll get in touch with him once this is all over and the coast is clear. I can’t risk it until then.

  At least Daron isn’t a police officer. If this all goes down as planned, I’ll never be able to talk to Piper again. The most physical contact we’ll ever have is her slapping the handcuffs on me, and that doesn’t hold the same appeal it usually does.

  Senator Robertson is responsible for the loss of some close friends. Even in death, he’s going to deprive me of someone special. Killing him will be bittersweet.

  Chapter Six

  Piper

  Political correspondent my ass.

  I’ve searched all the major publications—ones who could afford to send an employee to another city to cover a campaign—but I can’t find any written by Alec. Of course, it would help if I knew his last name, but I spend a few hours searching and come up with nothing.

  He doesn’t look anything like a political correspondent. Mind you, I don’t look much like a police officer. I definitely don’t look like a bodyguard. Appearances aren’t everything, but still, it doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t talk like one; he doesn’t act like one.

  It seems like a strange thing to lie about, though. Why would anyone pretend to be a political correspondent? It’s hardly the sexiest of professions, outside of Washington, DC, anyway. He’d have been better off going with the lie about being a musician. It’s like he’s got it the wrong way around. A political correspondent should pretend to be a musician, especially if they’re just trying to get a woman into bed.

  A few years ago, I would have been tempted by his offer. Actually, I’m tempted now. A few years ago I would have seriously considered it. He looks like the ideal fuck buddy. His body is sculpted to perfection with defined muscles and an almost complete lack of body fat. I have absolutely no doubt he’d show me a good time.

  However, I swore off fuck buddies and casual sex a few years ago. It’s so much more complicated than it’s made out to be on television and in the movies. I remember when I first started sleeping with a guy outside of a relationship. One of my friends warned me that it was dangerous and I could end up falling for him.

  I didn’t. But he fell for me.

  That’s happened three times now. Three times I’ve tried doing the ‘friends with benefits’ thing and it’s never worked. Guys are much more likely to get emotionally attached than I previously gave them credit for. I can have sex and keep emotions out of it. Does that make me a bad person? Guys do it all the time, so why shouldn’t I?

  It’s probably a bit silly to think that Alec would fall for me like those other guys did, especially considering he’s only in town for a few more days. However, I’ve made the rules, and I need to stick to them.

  I could have done with the orgasm last night. I was buzzing until around midnight, but then I crashed, despite all the caffeine that should have been rushing through my system. Now I’m under-prepared for my first meeting with the senator. As his bodyguard—God, it still sounds ridiculous to call myself that—I need to know who he’s upset and where the threats might be coming from. Last night, my research established that he’s upset most people he’s dealt with, and it’s amazing he’s still alive, let alone in office.

  The job involves putting my political beliefs to one side. That should be easy enough. I’m generally of the mindset that most politicians are dirty—it’s just a case of how dirty. I can count the number of politicians I trust on one hand with fingers to spare.

  I show up at the senator’s building and introduce myself to the security stuff at the front desk. They won’t speak to me yet because I don’t have my credentials, but I make the effort to examine their procedures as I walk through the metal detector. It’s not quite airport-level security, but for a downtown office block it should prove quite sufficient. If someone’s going to kill the senator, I doubt they’ll do it by walking into his building and going up to the 30th floor. Doesn’t hurt to be careful, though.

  Senator Robertson’s staff are expecting me, so after a quick meeting with the human resources manager, I’m given a pass and told to take a seat outside his office. He has a relatively small team of people—about twelve here—although I’m told there are more in Washington, DC. This office deals with campaigning and local politics, while the DC one is where the big stuff goes down. Laws are drafted, lobbyists are consulted, and nothing ever changes. I’m not sure which part of politics is more repulsive—campaigning or listening to lobbyists. One gets you in office, and the other keeps you there.

  I quickly stand up as the senator comes bursting out of his office. A somewhat frazzled young, female secretary follows close behind, blatantly avoiding making eye contact with me—or anyone for that matter. My first suspicion is that she’s just received a reprimand, but she’s done her blouse up in a hurry and missed a button.

  “Oh, there you are,” the senator says to me loudly, even though he’s only a few feet away. “Good to see you, Miss Raley. I had assumed you’d be in uniform.”

  “Figured it would be better to remain inconspicuous,” I reply. And if there’s one good part about this assignment, it’s not having to be in that damn uniform all day.

  “That’s a shame. I do like a woman in uniform.”

  I grind my teeth in response but don’t say anything. Senator Robertson is fifty-two, which is far too old to be flirting with a twenty-six-year-old, but it’s old enough that he’s part of the generation that got away with treating women like shit in the workplace. He’s the sexist, racist uncle you argue with over Thanksgiving dinner. Except this one is powerful.

  “I have a copy of your schedule,” I say. “I’ll need to follow you everywhere you go.”

  “I’m afraid we’re going to have to place limits on that.”

  “Obviously I won’t follow you into the bathroom.”

  “That’s not what I meant. You’re more than welcome to follow me in there, if that’s what you’re in to. I’m referring to certain meetings that will be off-limits.”

  “I can’t protect you if I’m not in the same room as you.”

  “It won’t be very often, and the meetings will only be with
respectable businessmen.”

  “But—”

  “There will be no arguing on this. As a United States senator, I’m privy to a lot of highly classified information, especially in my position on the Appropriations Committee. I have to be incredibly careful who I share that information with. You understand?”

  I nod. It’s not like I’m going to tell anyone what I overhear. Did he just admit that he plans to discuss confidential information with businessmen? In other words, not government officials. I could understand being left out of the loop if he was talking to other politicians, but businessmen? That raises a few concerns.

  Perhaps Alec was right. Senator Robertson couldn’t appear more unethical if he tried. He even looks dodgy. Everything on him exudes wealth that should be beyond a senator. The suits, the gold watch, the cufflinks, they all look expensive.

  I’d love to dig into that, but that’s not why I’m here. Unless one of his dodgy dealings ends up risking his life, I can’t get involved.

  Wait, if Alec is right about Senator Robertson, does that mean he is a political correspondent? No, I can believe Senator Robertson is taking bribes, but I’m not ready to believe that Alec is a political correspondent. He probably just guessed. It’s hardly a stretch of the imagination to assume that a politician is dirty.

  I follow the senator as he walks aimlessly around the floor. At first, I wonder where he’s going, but then I realize he’s just showing his face to his team and getting important updates. No one gets much more than thirty seconds of face time with him, so they speak quickly, their words full of jargon and abbreviations. They could be talking about selling access to the president of the United States and I’d be none the wiser. It’s like a foreign language.

  What I can understand is body language. You don’t need to be an expert to notice a pattern in how he treats his staff. The men get nods of the head and occasional questions, whereas the women get a little physical contact—a hand on the arm, or palm on the thigh if they’re both sitting down—and a handful of patronizing remarks. The women all look uncomfortable around him, but none of them say anything.

  After two hours of following the senator around and sitting in with him on meetings, it quickly becomes clear that his attitude is reflected throughout the office. There are four women working here, but only the human resources manager seems to have any degree of autonomy. The rest all work for the men. It’s too small a sample size to be definitive, but the whole thing reeks of decades-old sexism.

  The police force still has a fair few ‘old boys’ who look back fondly on the days when women knew their place, but fortunately, they are coming up to retirement and know well enough to keep their mouths shut. Here, the inmates run the asylum.

  The senator’s eleven o’clock is a meeting with two lobbyists from a defense contractor. This is when I get kicked out.

  “It’s a national security issue,” the senator explains. “I’m sure you understand. Go make yourself a cup of coffee and chill out.”

  As much as I hate following his instructions, I could do with a coffee. I fire off a quick email to Arlene letting her know that I’m not with the senator every minute of the day. She replies quickly to let me know that’s fine. His office is considered a low-risk area; it’s outside on the streets that I need to be most alert.

  I’m not trained for this. In the four days from the senator choosing me as his bodyguard to today, I went through an intensive training course on how to be a bodyguard. In that small amount of time, all I really learned was how to blend in, and I knew that already. I’ve been doing it most of my life. No one is going to expect a woman of five foot three and a quarter to be a senator’s bodyguard.

  The rest of the job is more challenging. Despite training, I still have no idea how I’m going to identify any suspicious individuals before they stick a gun in his face. All the training taught me was that if I hear any loud noises or see any commotion, I need to get the senator out of harm’s way soon as possible. Apparently diving in front of bullets isn’t realistic, and pushing the senator to the floor is a bad idea. If the senator’s on the floor then the killer can get a second shot in. I need to keep the senator on his feet and get him out of the way. That’s the extent of my training.

  “You’re going to need something much stronger than that to get through this week,” a woman says as she appears in the small kitchen. “Hi, I’m Shauna.”

  “Piper,” I reply. I don’t remember her from the tour of the office.

  “You must be the new bodyguard. You have the honor of being with Senator Robertson for what, twelve hours a day?”

  “Yeah, about that.” Thank God for the police department’s overtime policy. At least when this is all over, I’m going to get a fat paycheck. “What do you do here?”

  “Policy research, mainly.”

  “I thought that was all done in DC?”

  “Most of it is. But I requested to work here. No one put up much of a fight; wages are lower here and all my work is online. Frankly, I don’t even need to be in the office. Trust me, I’d much rather not be here. You’ve met my… colleagues?”

  “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting the team.”

  Shauna smiles. “You’ve been here a few hours. How many of them have hit on you so far?”

  “None so far,” I reply. “Although I think a few of them mentally undressed me.”

  “The senator has some fairly extreme viewpoints. Just imagine the sort of people who would want to work for a man like that.”

  “Um, don’t you work for a man like that?”

  “I got desperate. But yeah, I do find it hard to sleep at night sometimes. I take some comfort from the fact that I never deal with implementing any of the stuff that I’m unhappy with. I sit in my office and I do research and present the facts. What they choose to do with those facts is not my responsibility. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.”

  “He doesn’t sound like the sort of man I should be risking my life for.”

  “Not at all. Let’s just say, push comes to shove, maybe don’t jump in front of the bullet.”

  “I’ve always had slow reflexes.”

  Shauna opens her mouth to reply, but stops when she hears someone approaching. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  I follow her out shortly after and go wait for the senator to finish up with his meeting. It’s not my job to investigate who might be responsible for the death threats, but I am supposed to keep an eye out for suspicious activity. I email Arlene again recommending she investigate former female employees who may not have appreciated the senator’s desire for physical contact every five seconds.

  Shauna’s probably right—most of the people who work here support the senator and might even be of a similar mindset. However, I’d wager there have been a few lower-level employees who took the job because they were desperate. If any of those happened to be pretty young women then I truly pity them.

  After a few more meetings, the senator tells me we’re leaving the office.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “A hotel,” he replies. I stare at him blankly until he breaks out into loud laughter. “Don’t worry, nothing sordid. The meeting will be in the hotel lobby. Although I know the owner, so if we need a room, you only have to say.”

  He winks and grabs his coat. I hear the secretary call the car to come around front. He’ll only be in the open for a matter of seconds, so that shouldn’t pose that big of a risk. It’s the hotel lobby I’m worried about. An open area, with plenty of people coming and going. The meeting wasn’t on the schedule, so with any luck, it will be as much of a surprise to the killer as it is to me.

  The senator and I step into the elevator. Now the real work begins.

  Chapter Seven

  Alec - One Hour Earlier

  I take a spot on the fourth floor of the parking lot.

  The third floor offers a slightly better angle and increased visibility, but it’s also easier for people from the street to spot
me. The fourth floor has a convenient pillar for me to wait behind, and there are two large vans parked next to each other. I should be hidden from anyone wondering around inside the parking lot unless the owners of these vehicles happen to return.

  As predicted, the parking lot is dead during the day. It’s one of those places that offers a special deal to people who get there before nine in the morning and pay for the day rate. Most of these cars will be here until at least five o’clock. It’s three o’clock now, so I have two hours to keep an eye on the entrance to the senator’s building and hope he makes an appearance. If he doesn’t… well, there’s always the next day, or the day after that. Sooner or later, his time will come.

  I open the case containing my sniper rifle and start putting the pieces together. It’s one of the best guns money can buy, but I don’t entirely trust it. I’ve only tested it once, and even though it handled beautifully, there’s no way to replace the hundreds of hours I spent with the gun I used in Iraq.

  We went through a lot, me and that old gun. It survived the dry heat and sandstorms, but eventually I noticed more bullet drop than I was comfortable and asked for a new one. The less said about that replacement the better.

  Once my rifle is assembled, I take aim from the ledge and look around the city streets. The sun is slightly off to the side, but there’s a chance the scope of my rifle will get that telltale gleam of the sun illuminating me to those below. I keep my ears peeled for any panicked screams, but none come.

  I’m ready. As ready as I’ll ever be.

  While serving in Iraq, I got used to the idea that I could be killed at any second. I risked my life with every shot I lined up. Snipers are often out of harm’s way, but the enemy has snipers too, and plenty of men have lost their lives while lining up a kill of their own.

  For most soldiers, a little bit of fear is healthy. It gets the adrenaline running through the body and keeps you on edge for any little surprises that might be lying in wait. Snipers can’t be afraid. We need to keep our heart rate as low as possible, so you quickly come to terms with the possibility of death.